


Reflections

by CelestialArcadia



Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Aziraphale's Genitals Are Not Specified (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has a Praise Kink (Good Omens), Dom Aziraphale (Good Omens), Established Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens), Hair-pulling, Hand Jobs, Light Dom/sub, Mirror Sex, Other, POV Crowley (Good Omens), POV Third Person Limited, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Good Omens, Sub Crowley (Good Omens)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-02
Updated: 2020-09-02
Packaged: 2021-03-06 21:00:26
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,952
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26245309
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CelestialArcadia/pseuds/CelestialArcadia
Summary: Crowley lays a temptation for Aziraphale. (If laying nude on your hereditary-enemy-turned-lover's bed can be considered a "temptation," anyway.)
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Comments: 10
Kudos: 134





	Reflections

Crowley lies chest-down on the bed scrolling down some app on his phone. If he’s being completely honest, he doesn’t know which app he’s on—he’s been tapping the screen more or less randomly—and doesn’t really care.

The door opens. He pretends not to notice.

“Crowley…”

“Hello, angel. Fancy seeing you here,” Crowley replies, not looking up from the screen.

“Yes, what a coincidence, that you would see me in my own home.”

“Indeed.” Aziraphale circles around the bed, drinking in the sight of Crowley from any and every angle. Crowley can’t help but feel like the tables have turned somehow—he has spent so long circling around Aziraphale that the reverse seems almost strange.

“Lounging on my bed, and in the nude…one might think you have some sort of ulterior motive.” Aziraphale’s fingers barely brush Crowley’s shoulder blades as he says this, and Crowley barely manages to suppress a shiver at the contact.

“What, me? An ulterior motive? Never. Just trying to tempt you into having your way with me, is all.”

Aziraphale makes a strange almost-choking noise and Crowley puts his phone down, looking at him with concern.

“Sorry, did I ruin the mood?”

“Oh no,” Aziraphale clarifies quickly, “no, not at all—just—I wasn’t expecting you to play your hand so soon, so to speak.”

Crowley shrugs. “Patience isn’t my strong suit.”

Aziraphale opens his mouth, as if he’s about to point out the six thousand years’ worth of evidence otherwise. Instead, after a pause, he says, “Well, far be it from me to keep you waiting any longer than absolutely necessary.”

Grinning eagerly, Crowley chucks the phone under the bed (it’ll stay silent if it knows what’s good for it). Aziraphale sits next to him and begins rubbing circles into Crowley’s back.

“Is there anything specific you wanted tonight, dear? Other than just me having my way with you, I mean.”

“Not in the mood for penetration, to be honest. Anything else is up to you. But I’m not gonna complain if you wanna be a bit rough.”

Aziraphale hums in acknowledgment. “And you know what to do if you want to stop?” Crowley confirms, and Aziraphale nods, smiling. “Good. We’re going to have a wonderful night, dearheart.”

“So much for being ro— _aargh_ ,” Crowley groans, his quip interrupted by Aziraphale’s fingernails scratching lines into his back.

“You’d do best not to underestimate me, demon.”

Crowley takes a deep breath. “Noted,” he squeaks out.

Aziraphale climbs onto the bed and straddles Crowley, settling his full weight on top of him. Crowley sighs. In truth, he could probably lay under Aziraphale like this, safe and secure, forever—well, except for one thing.

“Clothes,” Crowley grumbles. “You’re wearing enough for both of us.”

“How dreadfully awful of me.”

“The buttons are digging in. It’s distracting.”

“I suppose we can’t have you _distracted_ , can we.” In a short moment, Aziraphale’s outfit disappears, and Crowley gasps at the sudden feel of Aziraphale all over him, nothing between them at all. Aziraphale brings one hand up to Crowley’s, not quite holding it, just resting atop it. Crowley has longer fingers, but Aziraphale’s hands are broader and softer. (Much like the rest of their bodies, really.)

While Crowley is pondering hands and whatnot, Aziraphale bites his neck. Crowley’s yelp turns into a moan as Aziraphale sucks at the skin he’d nipped at. He does this a few more times, making and soothing marks on Crowley’s neck and shoulders.

Soon, Aziraphale sits back up. As Crowley is about to start whining at the loss of contact, Aziraphale puts an arm around Crowley’s waist. “Up we go, dear,” he says as he picks Crowley up easily, sitting the demon in front of him, Crowley’s back to Aziraphale’s front.

“Oof,” Crowley responds.

“It’s easier to hold you like this,” Aziraphale says in explanation.

Crowley’s sigh turns into a moan when Aziraphale brings his hands down. One on Crowley’s chest, the other in his lap. The hand on Crowley’s chest begins to massage at a nipple, while the other focuses on Crowley’s inner thigh—his fingers just occasionally brushing against Crowley’s cock or bollocks, just enough to be incredibly frustrating. Aziraphale alternates, switching the positions of his hands so neither side of Crowley feels neglected.

“Now, I _am_ enjoying this—arrangement.” Crowley snorts inelegantly at this. “But I would very much like to see your face. Would you mind terribly if I put up a mirror? So I can watch you as I _have my way with you_ , as you put it?”

Crowley sighs; a deep, shaky thing. “Sssssoundss good.”

“Oh, wonderful,” Aziraphale says, manifesting a large mirror in front of the bed.

Crowley looks at their reflection. Aziraphale behind him, a gentle smile on his face belying his ingrained bastardry. Himself, disheveled, marks already on his neck and shoulders. Fucked out already—although Aziraphale would probably prefer the term _debauched_ —and they hadn’t even really _done_ a whole lot yet.

It’s too much.

Crowley closes his eyes, tucks his head down to face the bed. Aziraphale _tsk_ s as he grabs Crowley’s hair, pulling his head up, forcing him to look at his own reflection. “Did I say you could look away, dear?”

He’s a goner. The combination of the tug—the pinpricks of pain from having his hair pulled so roughly—the tone of Aziraphale’s voice, equal parts stern and teasing—it’s like a lightning bolt straight into Crowley’s veins, sending arousal through his whole body but especially to his cock.

It seems that Crowley has taken a bit too long to stew in desire, because Aziraphale pulls his hair again, though not as roughly as before. “Answer me, Crowley,” he says impatiently. “Did I tell you that you could look away?”

“No, Aziraphale,” Crowley answers. “You didn’t.”

The hand in Crowley’s hair looses its grip. Aziraphale’s other hand moves downward, taking Crowley’s cock ( _finally_ , Crowley thinks, he doesn’t know if he could stand the teasing any longer), using the pad of his thumb to gently spread the leaking precome around the head.

“Oh, Crowley.” Aziraphale’s voice drips with love, syrupy-sweet. “You’re so good for me.”

Crowley hisses, his back arching. His cock twitches at the sound of the praise. It’s too much to hope that Aziraphale, having taken him in hand as he has, hasn’t noticed—he’s chuckling, and when Crowley looks at the reflection in the mirror, he can’t help but note how distinctly un-angelic the smile on his face is.

“N-Nnuh…”

Aziraphale hums in thought as he begins to languidly pump Crowley’s cock. Enough to drive him to distraction, but not enough to satisfy. “Don’t try to deny it, dearest.”

“’M n-not…” Even Crowley isn’t sure what he’s trying to say— _I’m not good_? _I’m not denying anything_? His thoughts are jumbled in a haze of arousal and angel.

“You _are_. Good, and beautiful, and kind.” Aziraphale squeezes, increasing the friction on his hand as Crowley’s length reacts with great interest. “Now, darling, what am I supposed to believe—your mouth, or your cock?” By now Crowley is leaking to the point where Aziraphale’s hand and much of his forearm are wet and gleaming.

There is no longer any point in trying to hide it, if there ever was in the first place. “F’r you—all for you, angel, always—”

“For me? How _generous_ of you.”

Crowley grits his teeth, tries to formulate his words as carefully as he can with the…distractions. “Anything. Whatever you want. Please.”

“Whatever I want…” Aziraphale says, in an over-the-top considering tone.

“Anything,” Crowley repeats.

“What I want,” the angel states, “is to get you off with my hands while I say lovely things about you, and watch as you come all over yourself. Would you like that?”

“ _Yessss_ ,” Crowley hisses shamelessly. “Messss me up. All yoursss.”

“Gladly,” Aziraphale responds with a smile. He steadily slides both hands to and fro along the length of Crowley’s cock, watching him steadily get more worked up. Soon, Aziraphale takes one wet hand and brings it up to Crowley’s mouth. “Open, please. I want to watch you taste yourself.” Crowley readily complies, because when has he ever refused a request from Aziraphale? And he begins to suck Aziraphale’s fingers, lapping up the taste of his own precome. The taste isn’t special, but the company is, so he loves it.

“Oh yes, there you go, dear. You use your tongue so wonderfully—I think I should like for you to use it on my quim later—” Crowley nods eagerly at this, “—or maybe my cock—” Crowley continues nodding, “— _later_ , Crowley; right now I want to finish seeing to you. You make such delicious noises, you know.”

“Mmh,” replies Crowley.

“Yes, just like that. And you’re so devoted to me—sometimes it’s overwhelming, but I wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world. We’re…very different, clearly, but I never enjoy myself more than when I’m with you. I consider myself ble— _lucky_ that you seem to feel the same way about me.”

Crowley says something that doesn’t sound much like words.

“And,” Aziraphale concludes conspiratorially, “you have the most wonderful reactions. When I say nice things about you, or compliment you. It’s not that I wouldn’t say such things otherwise, of course—but knowing that you _enjoy_ it in such a way…well, it certainly makes things fun, doesn’t it?”

Crowley makes a noise that probably would have been “That’s one way of putting it” if he weren’t sucking on Aziraphale’s fingers.

“I love you so much, Crowley,” Aziraphale says, increasing the speed of his pumps as Crowley moans. “Are you close?”

“Mm-hmm.” Crowley still can’t really speak clearly with Aziraphale’s fingers in his mouth, but he can nod with the best of them.

“Come whenever you’re ready, dear—and please watch yourself as you do.”

Crowley does his best to focus on his own reflection. He watches himself succumb totally to pleasure, how his back arches during his orgasm, how come spurts all over his crotch and stomach. Maybe it should be embarrassing, he thinks, to watch himself make such a mess while the love of his life (mostly) gently bosses him around, but all he can feel is good feelings—happiness, contentment, pleasure, _love_. (And maybe a little bit of pride, although he gets the feeling that Hell would not particularly approve of _this_ particular application of that sin.)

Aziraphale hums in satisfaction. “Beautiful, darling. Thank you.” He takes the hand that was in Crowley’s mouth and uses it to smear come around his body, across his stomach and chest, mingling with the red hair there. “I’ll miracle it away soon. Just want to see you like this a bit longer…”

“Angel,” Crowley croaks, his mind coming back to itself.

“Yes?”

“Love you too, Aziraphale.”

Aziraphale smiles brightly and turns Crowley around in his lap, so they’re facing each other. They kiss passionately, Crowley’s come now getting all over Aziraphale’s chest too until a small miracle cleans them up before things start to get _too_ uncomfortably sticky.

Crowley pulls away just enough to speak. “Wanna get you off too,” he says.

“Later. You’re sleepy.”

“’m nnnn…” Crowley yawns. “Ugh, fine. But when I wake up, you’re gonna get it.”

“I’m looking forward to it.” Aziraphale lays back on the bed, bringing Crowley down with him, gently rubbing a hand across his back. “Sleep, dearest. I’ll be here when you wake.”

“And then we’ll have fun,” Crowley mumbles, in the space between sleep and consciousness.

“A lot of fun,” Aziraphale agrees. He quietly miracles a glass of water on the nightstand, in case Crowley wakes thirsty, but otherwise relaxes too, watching the gentle rhythm of Crowley’s breathing.

**Author's Note:**

> You can also find me on Twitter ([@CelestiaArcadia](https://twitter.com/CelestiaArcadia)) and occasionally Tumblr ([@celestialarcadia](https://celestialarcadia.tumblr.com)).


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